


All we Are

by 1llusionmachine



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2doc - Freeform, Angst and Fluff, Character studies, M/M, Suggestions of abuse, Unresolved Feelings, murdoc is secretly a bit of a softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1llusionmachine/pseuds/1llusionmachine
Summary: Murdoc and 2D fall asleep watching telly, and Murdoc contemplates their relationship when he wakes up with him in his arms.
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	All we Are

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first Gorillaz fic, I didn't expect to write this but I got really interested in the characters once I started! I hope I've captured things well!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Murdoc stirs into consciousness with a groan; on the edge of his vision he can sense the telly softly playing in the background, casting a blue hue over the otherwise pitch black living room. Why is he on the sofa, and why is his chest so tight?

And then he notices, pieces together the tell-tale signs of waking up next to someone(god knows he's done that countless times); the comfortable warmth, the second heartbeat, the hand on his chest. He glances down out of curiosity and sees a familiar blue head of hair splayed across his t-shirt.

Oh.

Stuart is sound asleep atop of him, a small snore escaping him every now and then. Murdoc instantly removes his hand from where it had somehow wound up cupping his hip, and then braces his hands to push himself up. It's useless - what Stuart lacks in weight he more than makes up for in height, and Murdoc is getting on a bit now. It's like trying to shift a log, and he huffs in defeat.

"Stu." He hisses quietly, hoping to gently wake him even though he knows it wont work - years on tour buses and in cramped hotel rooms have told him that much. It's rare that the bloke gets a kip, always popping those pills to help him drift off, but when he does, he's out for the count. It seems that the only place Stuart's generally nervous disposition hasn't affected is his sleep.

For an awful, startling moment, Murdoc finds himself swallowing back a very large lump that seems to have formed in his throat, because it suddenly occurs to him that maybe the coma is why 2D is such a heavy sleeper. The feeling of immense guilt that follows, however, is nothing new - it's a daily battle, has been since the car went through the window of that shop, and every time his eyes meet Stuart's black, dark ones, he wishes more than anything that he could take it all back.

He resolves not to wake him. It's the least he can do.

In stark contrast to Stuart, Murdoc could wake up at the sound of a pin dropping. He wonders how much that has to do with his own past as well. A strange sick feeling stirs deep in his gut - he tries not to think about these sorts of things if he can help it. Being sober in prison was a good enough reason to remind him why he needed the booze - to forget. To forget the arsehole that was his father and the mess that was his childhood, to forget the irreversible damage he's done to Stuart - he'd never been so well behaved on probation. It was a bit embarrassing, really.

He wishes he wasn't sober now - maybe things would have gone differently when Stuart asked to watch telly with him earlier. He probably would have told him to sod off or something, but no. Sober Murdoc had caved immediately after seeing the gorgeous state he was in - loose pyjama bottoms and a tight top that showed off his skinny waist, hair deliciously ruffled, yawning and complaining about not being able to sleep. Murdoc had stumbled over his words and shuffled across the sofa easily, let him choose a film, and not even half an hour later, when he saw Stuart's eyelids begin to droop, he was cocking one arm up, and saying "Oh, come on then" before he could even think about it. His heart had stuttered when he obliged without hesitation, nuzzling into his neck as if it was the most normal thing in the world. For that one second, he imagined it was.

"What's gotten into ya, Muds?" He'd murmured against his jaw, stubble scratching his skin.

"I'm having a mid-life crisis." He'd grumbled back, interlacing his fingers together across his back. "Go to sleep."

And now, here they were. He seethes with rage at his past self's decision - he's now dizzyingly aware of everything; of the nest of gorgeous azure hair atop Stuart's head, of the way his face is so relaxed and soft under the glow of the television, of the timid puff of his breath warming the skin on his chest. It's so sickeningly intimate, and worst of all, he likes it. Maybe he really is having a mid life crisis, he thinks; finally mellowing in his age, too tired to put on pretences anymore, subtly confessing his feelings by offering a cuddle on the sofa, that sort of thing.

Stuart shuffles, and sniffs a few times - Murdoc looks down, worried the man is waking up(only out of courtesy, of course, nothing more), but notices that it's a just a stray section of hair that's fallen out of place and onto his nose. He reaches a hand up, and with gentle, deliberate care, brushes it out of the way. A frown adorns Murdoc's features - it's second nature to him - when he feels how soft his hair is under his calloused fingers. Too delicate. He supresses the pang of affection he gets in his chest; he knows this is a dangerous situation to be in. Hell, he _is_ the dangerous situation.

Absurdly, he finds his temper flaring, full of anger that he can never resolve, damning his father for making him this way, for making him hide any form of emotion, to become defensive. He'd resurrect the bastard just to kill him again, if he could. If he could find a portal to the deepest pit of hell. He feels a sting in his eyelids, and he blinks away the bizarre and unfamiliar sensation of crying, holding his breath and wiping at the moisture at the corner of his eye in sheer disgust. It hurts because he knows that nothing can happen between them. It's simply how it is. It's how it should be.

Stuart finally stirs, probably because Murdoc's chest is shaking, and he slowly blinks himself awake. A soft, toothy grin spreads across his face when he meets Murdoc's eyes, and the sheer adoration in his expression makes him feel even worse about even instigating this whole thing. Of thinking he had any hope, any redemption.

"Hi, Muds." Stuart's voice is a whisper, eyes glassy and relaxed. Not a hint of worry or fear to be seen. _He should be_ , he thinks. _He should be disgusted with me after all I've done._

"Hey yourself." He smiles back slightly, voice cracking.

There's a beat of silence. It's not awkwardness, more acceptance, processing the situation they're in. Deciding. He hates how his heart skips a beat when their eyes lock, and he glances away instantly, but he feels the pads of Stuart's fingers on his chin, forcing him to look at him again. 

"What are you thinking?" He purrs. There's no mistaking the intention of his tone. He glances down at where Stuart's tongue has darted out to wet his dry lips, and he shudders slightly when he feels his free hand lazily drawing circles into his ribcage. Stuart shuffles forward slightly, and their faces are so close to one another, he can feel his breath on his face. His hand is still cupping his chin, but he doesn't move any further, almost waiting for him to take the jump.

"I'm thinking..."

He's thinking of how easy it would be to close the space between them, of how Stuart's eyes would flutter closed and a mewl would get caught his throat as they kissed. Of how that would make things so much more complicated. In a way, that is the worst thing he could ever do it Stuart, giving in. After all they've gone through, it would be disgustingly, obscenely selfish of him to accept Stuart's advances, no matter how much he wants to. Eve and the serpent.

Stuart deserves better.

"I'm thinking...that you should go to bed. Off you pop, dents."

He swallows thickly and looks away for good this time, adding the broken look on Stuart's face to the list of reasons why this is for the best. He's Murdoc Niccals, he's used to burying his feelings. Times this this remind him why he should.

Stuart wordlessly pushes himself off of him and leaves the room, but the weight on his chest doesn't cease. He doesn't watch him go, just glues his eyes to the rerun of some sitcom on the telly. The audience laughs as if on cue.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, thank you for reading!
> 
> (Note: I just wanted to add that I am by no means justifying the abuse etc that Murdoc has dealt out over the years, he was still an absolute arse in the past and made his own choices despite his upbringing, I just wanted to explore that element as well and perhaps how Murdoc can't help part of who he is.)


End file.
